


Luck

by chii



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:25:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chii/pseuds/chii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a total of over 6 hours of recordings salvaged from York's armor, and Carolina watches all of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luck

**Author's Note:**

> this show is seriously the biggest fucking soulcrusher. written in the last hour after the episode happened, so it's a little ffkghjg.

It's a rare moment when Carolina can be described as anything but hard, but he sees it. It's over in a flash, but he sees it. They make their way back in what could almost be called companionable silence, and while it's not perfect, it's a far sight better than the wreck they had to deal with earlier. They make it all of a week, a week of traveling and long nights with Wash and Carolina keeping watch, all the way up until she corners him, and holds out a little chip. 

“Uh. A, it's not my birthday, and B, no hands. Just, y'know. In case you forgot.” Church eyes it for a moment, not quite sure he's going to like what is on there or what she's suggesting, and isn't surprised when she doesn't seem to care that he's being mouthy. 

“The data you pulled that you were talking about earlier. I want you to make a backup of it, and put it on here.” To her credit, her voice doesn't waver, doesn't shake like it did earlier, and she keeps her hand steady, just watching him. Maybe it's the fact they're alone, or maybe it's the fact that in some twisted way, Epsilon understands, but he doesn't fight. The data gets transferred over, and Carolina leaves without another word, ducking into the room she's claimed as hers in the old wreckage of the base. 

 

There are a total of 6 hours, 38 minutes, 14 seconds of recordings recovered from York's personnel file. An additional 46 minutes of deleted bits and scrap are there, too, but most of it is not salvageable, but 6 hours. That's enough. 

The cot she's stealing from the blues isn't exactly comfortable, but it doesn't have to be, really. Carolina loads the data up on the datapad, setting it flat on the table. The hologram projection isn't as strong as when Epsilon had done it, but it was still-- still more than anything she had right now. The room lights up with green and gold, and something low in her stomach clenches, holds tight and she forces herself to watch. 

It doesn't seem fair that this is all that's left of most of her team, most of the people she cared the most about. A few scraps of armor, a lighter, some pictures, some documents in the Director's files-- all these things that don't make up for the fact that those people are dead and gone and the ones that are left aren't exactly the most stable people around. 

Dwelling won't do any good, so she doesn't, she just presses start and watches.

 

**0114**

“Star date: uh. Uhhh. Crap, D, how would you even tell that. Is that for real going by something in the stars, or is that just a stupid way to introduce the normal date.” 

“...Likely, it is something invented strictly for the show itself, and has no real bearing on anything--”

“Right, right, okay, well. It's a boring Wednesday, and the only reason I'm still makin' these things is because when we're old and can't remember crap, we'll have something to look back on. Like the dude version of scrapbooking, you know?”  
 **0157**

“Agent York, I do not think this advisable, in case anyone comes across these recordings.” 

“D, you do realize that if anyone comes across these recordings, we'll probably either be dead or so far gone that it won't matter, right?” 

“...I still do not think it advisable.” 

Carolina can see that York almost fights it, but he's never been good at arguing points like that, and he agrees, just waving his hands with a heavy sigh, the motion horribly familiar. 

“Fine, you win.” 

 

**0189**

“Okay, just bear with me, D, this is important.” 

“You are still too close to the blast radius of the fireworks. Should they go off prematurely, then--

“D. You wanted to know more about holidays and stuff, right? This is pretty much one of the best holidays ever, even if we're not on Earth. You get to blow things up. There is nothing not awesome about this. And seriously, there's no chance that they're gonna go-- ooooooooh shit.” 

**0203**

“It's a sunny February morning, and I just want it known that this planet is just as sunny and amazing as I said it would be. Never mind that we nearly got blown up when they found out we snuck onto their ship, because it was entirely worth it. Short entry today, folks, because I am going to teach Delta exactly how awesome sunlight and the beach is.” 

**0203**

“I do believe I recommended sunscreen, York.” 

“Don't even start, man. Don't even start.”

**0329**

“Heeellloo, ladies and gentlemen. After having toughed out the brutal battle of wits between the first contender-- yours truly, with his rugged good looks and charming smile, aaaand the second, lean, green, and with a rather dry sense of humor, you'll all be happy to know that I have emerged victorious. That means that I've attached the details of the safe houses in the file here-- coded, thanks to D, but in case anything goes horribly wrong, you'll know what to do. If, in case I'm that lucky, you are a certain charming boss lady with a knack for figuring out codes, then first off, I'm sorry I'm not there myself, and second, there's a file there with a rendezvous. Maybe we'll get lucky, huh?” 

 

 

A few hours in, the door creaks open, and she doesn't pause it, doesn't do more than glance over, knowing that only Wash would come in this late at night. Even he stops-- stills, jerky and uneven like he's not quite sure if he should move back or forward, but he gives up and just takes two steps in, closing the door behind him. 

“And okay, D, I understand that it's not morally right to do this or whatever, but seriously, don't you understand that we could really win the lottery like this? I mean honestly, now. Think about it, how kickass would it be to look back on these like three years later with like a mansion and stuff.” 

“...I do not think buying a mansion would be a wise idea, considering the situation we left behind.” 

York scoffs, waving a hand and sitting down heavily, just shaking his head. “Yeah, well, someday, right? When this all blows over. We'll get who's left and figure this whole mess out.” 

Delta's silent for too long, and Carolina doesn't need to be an AI, doesn't need to be logical and run probabilities to understand what he's thinking. York sees it too, as he swats playfully at the AI, shaking his head. 

“We'll figure it out, D. We'll be lucky.” 

That file shuts off, and Carolina doesn't start the next one, wanting to know if Wash actually needs something or if he'd just wondered about the light licking up under her door into the hallway. 

Wash toes the ground a moment, clearly debating whether or not he should be in there, and then just gives up, taking a few slow steps over, sitting next to her, their shoulders pressing together. “...He always was pretty lucky, wasn't he.” Neither of them comment on how _was_ seemed like the wrong word to use there, no matter how accurate. 

“The most out of all of us,” Carolina says, eyes dry, and even then she feels the need to reach for her helmet, closing her fingers around it and just holding it for something to ground her to where they're sitting, to keep her there. “Except for at the end.” 

There's nothing he can really say to that, nothing he can do to make that any less sharp, because he knows that seeing what was on that screen was just like rubbing salt in the wound all over again, and there wasn't anything that they could do to fix that. Just nodding, Wash reaches out and squeezes her shoulder on his way to standing up, only to pause. 

“Hey, boss?” Wash stops, sitting right back down and facing her, jaw set at a stubborn line, and Carolina swallows down the fact that all she can think about is how much he'd changed from the Freelancer she knew years ago, the one who laughed and smiled and trusted a hell of a lot more. The Director had a lot to answer for. “Promise me something, okay.” When she doesn't answer, he bumps their shoulders lightly, and the motion holds more behind it than either of them are strictly willing to say. “The Director-- his whole reason for all of this, the program, what he did to Alpha, to us, to Texas, it was all because of one person. Someone he loved so much that he couldn't stop chasing her and he got it all wrong, got everything twisted up along the way. Just-- don't do that, okay?” 

He's never been the most eloquent of them, never been good at giving speeches or leading and rallying the troops, but Carolina doesn't need any of that to understand what he's saying, what he's implying. She knew that it was whatever poison that was in Epsilon that broke Wash the first time, knew that all that hate, and bitterness and helplessness inside a person wasn't healthy, and knew what he was asking. 

“I won't be like him.” 

It's enough for Wash, no matter how much he wants to press, wants to make her really understand that it's not worth it-- he's got his own feelings to deal with, leftover pieces of Church missing Allison so badly that it aches, but years make it easier. 

“I'll see you in the morning.” 

Wash slips out the door without another word, and if he takes up a watch outside the door for a while, just to make sure the others don't bother her, neither of them say a word about it.


End file.
